


A Prayer to St Anthony, Patron Saint of the Lost

by vesuviannights



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Female Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 08:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20078935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesuviannights/pseuds/vesuviannights
Summary: Lucio's appetite for you is held for no social event or gathering. He murmurs your praises while you choke on his cock in a secluded alcove while the celebrations rage on behind you.





	A Prayer to St Anthony, Patron Saint of the Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the smutty drabble game on my Tumblr (@vesuviannights). The prompts were "I've been so hard for you all night, princess" and "your lips would look so pretty wrapped around my hard cock right now".

“I’ve been so hard for you all night, princess,” Lucio croons into your ear. His breath warms the already flushed skin of your neck, causes your bottom lip to quiver. “And you know I don’t do well when I have to wait for my dessert.” 

Your breath catches in your throat as his hand finds the bare skin of your knee and begins to slide slowly, slowly, _slowly_, up your thigh. His fingers stroke soft, loving circles along their path, as though in the act of tempting you to give into him he is coaxing a startled deer from its hide in the forest. And while you are the deer—careful, quiet, trying not to be caught or heard with so many eyes around you—he is the wolf, all sly moves and glinting teeth and too impatient for his meal.

Your eyes are fixated on the performing troupe, weaving between the tables spread through the hall for the feast. One of the men swathed in a sheer periwinkle fabric brushes past your table, leaning in to flourish his gold-painted flesh before you. You follow him only with your eyes, his proximity seeming to set off the last of something still waiting to strike inside of Lucio.

As the low thrum of music begins to weave through the air around you, his ankle hooks around yours and slams it against your chair leg, spreading your pretty little thighs for his wandering fingers.

He laughs softly into your ear as though he can feel every hummingbird beat of your heart. He knocks your jaw with the tip of his nose so that you are forced to tilt your head to the side, offering your neck to his waiting lips. He takes it impatiently, greedily, and without a care for who is nearby or watching.

The lights of the room are dimmed, coloured spotlights twisting around you, occasionally flickering over you, exposing every desperate tell you were hoping to hide. All the while, his fingertips are creeping—no, walking, there is no shame or care where his wanting hands are concerned—up until they reach where your thighs part, where you are dripping, aching, and trying so very hard to fight it.

You try to snap your thighs shut over his hand, but he reacts with lethal speed, pulling your chair out from the table and twisting it toward him so he can slam your thighs open with a rolling growl.

His eyes are locked on yours, fingertips pressing into the inside of your thighs, and you are frozen in place as you watch one, two dimples pop, his eyes burning as he leans in toward you. His gaze devours you, and enjoys every delicious bite of what it finds—the way your cheeks flush, the unsteady heave of your chest, the part of your lips.

“Oh pet,” he tells you as his eyes dip to those very same lips. “Do you know how pretty your lips would look wrapped around my cock right now?”

You are vaguely aware that something else must have happened while he was speaking. The crowd is cheering around you, the sounds of their movements swallowing up your guttural moan, your keening sigh, the way your fingers tremble just a little before they wrap around the arm of your chair and turn a few shades paler from the pressure you apply to them.

Lucio is grinning, so very pleased with himself for your reaction, for the attention you are giving him. Before you have even processed the movement, he is pulling you outside and into the empty corridor. Your ears ring from the change in volume, the sounds of the troupe and their enthralled crowd fading as he drags you into an alcove, away from the sight of the door and the passing servants bustling to provide food and wine. 

“Do you feel that, pet?” He takes your hand and presses it into the bulge in his pants, grinding into it with a groan. “So hard, all fucking night. Do you know how impossible it is to sit next to you and do nothing?”

“You call this ‘nothing’?” You ask, finally able to form words, though they are tight and lodge a little in your throat. He narrows his eyes at you, amused and loving the cheek in your voice.

“I call this finally breaking and dragging you out to have my way,” he returns. He lifts your hand from his bulge to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to three of your fingertips before wrapping his lips around them and sucking gently. All the while, his gaze stays locked with yours. “Now, get down on your knees and show me just how good of a job you can do choking on my cock.”

You drop to your knees, graceless and a little too hurried, already unbuckling his pants as you go. His fingers slip into your hair as you pull him free, gently massaging your head as you kiss his swollen tip and lick the bead of pre-cum from it. 

“Look up at me, pet,” he groans. “Keep your gaze on me. I want to see your beautiful eyes as you gasp for air.”

Too impatient, he begins thrusting into your mouth, the tip of him hitting the back of your throat, causing tears to spring to your eyes. You keep your gaze steady with his, eyes wide and unblinking as you take him a little deeper each time, hands braced against his thighs, thighs shaking as each moan and whispered praise from his lips sends you dizzy with arousal.

He pulls out of your mouth after a few minutes, leaving you gasping at the reprieve. His cock bobs in front of you, damp from your efforts, little strings of saliva still connecting it to your lips. You can feel it running down the sides of your mouth, and as he wipes some of it away with his thumb, he shakes his head at you. 

“I adore every part of you, pet,” he tells you. “Your tears, your beautiful lips, your desperate eyes—” His cock twitches at his own words, and he groans, thrusting into the air next to your lips. “The way you’ll give me anything. Because I would do the same for you, in any moment and any world, I’ll give you anything.”

Greedy as you are, you take him into your mouth again, his thighs shaking under your hands as your head bobs on his cock, swallowing and sucking and running the flat of your tongue along the underside.

“Oh, _pet—_” He curses under his breath, and his grip in your hair tightens just a little. “Touch yourself, pet. I want you to moan around my cock while you swallow every last drop of my come.” 

And you do, thighs trembling as you reach between them to touch yourself, drawing slow and torturous circles around your hardened clit. You feel him pulse against your tongue, and a moment later his seed coats your tongue and the back of your throat. You swallow every last drop, greedy and gasping for any part of himself that he will give you.

And as he pulls himself out of your mouth with a soft pop, your eyes are stinging for an entirely new reason. Your thighs are still shaking, your cheeks still flushed, your gut still twisted with desperation. He is done, and you have swallowed every last drop of him, and you’re almost sobbing with the knowledge that you still need your own release.

“Lucio—” You gasp out his name, groan it through gritted teeth, _growl _it in frustration. 

“Oh pet, don’t pout. We both know there’s only room for one impatient, petulant wench in this relationship.”

He grins as he drops to his knees—for you, only ever for you—and pushes you onto your back. He parts your thighs with soft words and sure hands, pushes aside your undergarment to flick his tongue over your swollen clit once, twice, before he leans in closer to begin devouring you wholly and completely and without mercy.

As you writhe and cry and beg beneath him, he tells you all the wonderful things he knows you deserve to hear. _You are his one and only. You are so wonderful and adoring and all he ever wants. _His fingers crook and twist inside you, beckoning you closer to the edge, his other hand keeping you cruelly pinned to the ground beneath you, keeping you from trying to escape his ministrations in the moments where it almost becomes too much.

You come apart, fingers wrapped tight in his hair, shaking and keening and sighing beneath him. He murmurs something against the inside of your thigh, and you think you recognise those three little words, only you’ve never heard them from him before, and not all of you is _here _enough to process them.

You’re still a little out of it when he comes up to push your hair from your forehead, to kiss you just above your brow. Those dimples—_fuck_, those dimples—pop again, and you manage a vague smile in return for his own, the one that makes you feel so loved and wanted and cherished, like you were an answer to a prayer he had been whispering all his life.

“Let’s leave early,” he murmurs to you. He places a soft kiss to your jaw, and pulls you in a little closer when you tremble against him. “I want to fuck you good and proper on every surface in my bedroom, where you can scream my name in every way that I please.”

Still a little too heady from your orgasm, you barely manage to murmur something back to him.

And as he scoops you up in his arms and begins to walk away with you, you sure as hell hope it was a ‘yes’.


End file.
